Going Cullen
by Shekiah Rosay
Summary: A true-to-the-story account of each of the original seven members of the Cullen family meeting Carlisle, joining the coven, and experiencing true family for the first time. Special extended Jasper and Alice scene now included, as requested!
1. Carlisle Cullen

I've gone back through and put these in sequence according to how things happened in the book. Originally, they were in some bizarre order based roughly on when I wrote them, but mostly what I wanted to post when I wanted to post it. :P So the disclaimer is somewhere in here, but for the record, I'll re-emphasize now that I don't own Twilight. ;)

Enjoy my PERSONAL FAVORITE chapter - Carlisle's installment (he's so incredibly BA...) ;D

* * *

Carlisle Cullen felt a distinctive since of pride as he hit the ground, writhing in agony.

_He had found them. The last coven in London._

Admittedly, he had come rather unprepared. But how exactly does one go about preparing for something regarding which he is absolutely naïve? Armed with his father's infantry of monster hunters, a trusty rifle, and his own overbearing, twenty-three-year-old sense of pride, he had hoped to triumph. Or at least come out alive.

Sadly, it looked as though neither of those things was going to happen.

Carlisle couldn't have imagined the kind of power that these creatures possessed. They had smelled his party while they had still been above-ground and had been waiting when they arrived. Not that that mattered at all anyway. When Carlisle saw their bright red eyes glowing in the pale light from the sewer grate, he knew that it would take far more than fifty or so pious, well-intended Englishmen to save him. Yet he hadn't given up.

Now, as he lay on the ground in the London alley, it all seemed rather meaningless. What had it been for, in the end? Had he really been that enthusiastic to "purge London of the filth?"

Hardly.

It had been one more vie for his father's approval. Something within him honestly believed that if he worked hard and accomplished enough, Cullen would look upon him with something other than glaring disapproval. They never had anything in common, father and son. Carlisle had been fascinated by the world around him, researching and learning about all kinds of religions and interpretations of mortality. His father had read over his shoulder with disdain for what he considered all-corrupting evil. Yet Carlisle still longed for his approval, for some strange reason.

Not that it mattered at all now.

The pain was so intense; it was a struggle to think. And it wasn't near lessening. Carlisle took a sharp breath, the freezing night air stinging his throat. Or maybe his throat was just stinging anyway; every other part of him was, after all.

Though it seemed much further away than it was, Carlisle could hear the battle continuing to take place between his comrades and the sewer vermin. It didn't sound as though his side was doing well. On the contrary actually – with each second that passed, he heard fewer of their voices. For a moment, he almost scorned the survival instincts that had allowed him to escape with merely a wound at the base of his neck. It would have been kinder to die, really…

Damn, wounds this simple just shouldn't hurt so much! And at the very least, the pain should have been constrained to his neck and shoulders, surrounding the actual wound. Not coursing through his entire body like lightning.

Deep, somewhere behind the millions of voices that simply cried out in pain, there was a weakened presence of reason in his mind. _The vampires were still on the loose; now they were hungrier than ever… It was unwise to stay here. And if he was going to die of blood loss, it would have already happened._

For a moment, it occurred to Carlisle that it would be easy enough to worsen the wound the tiniest bit and end the suffering. It would be so terribly simple…

But no. Those blasphemous thoughts ended as quickly as they'd come. According to his father's beliefs, suicide did not merit so much as judgement – it was one of few crimes against the Lord that sent the perpetrator straight into the eternal fire. Though this back alley did seem at the moment very akin to his idea of hell, he was still terrified to the core at the prospect of the real thing.

Home?

He couldn't make it that far.

At the end of the alley, farthest from the opening to the street, he could make out the back door to a house. Beside the door, there seemed to be a smaller opening with a simple latch. A cellar, perhaps? Twenty meters away or thereabout. He could make it that far – he had to.

Though wasn't sure exactly how it happened (things were progressing more and more quickly toward a dream-like state) Carlisle soon found himself beside the cellar door. The lock was rusted, and incidentally, somebody had left it unlatched. He cast open the doorway with all the strength he could muster, and was surprised to find that it all but flew off. It must be lighter-weight than he had expected... With a few clumsy motions, he managed to throw himself down into the dank, earthen room.

Potatoes – it smelled like potatoes. That was the first sensation his brain managed to interpret from his pain-weakened senses. Groping out into the pitch-darkness, he could feel a few of the cool, leathery roots. A potato-cellar. Well, at least he wouldn't starve.

Suddenly, however, the scent completely changed in his mind. It was as different as humanly possible from the comforting, wintry scent that meant meat stews and shepherd's pie in his childhood. It was a foreign, disgusting odor that made him gag. Leaning over into what he hoped was a corner, Carlisle retched violently. After a few minutes of this, it felt as though his stomach was completely empty – the emptiest it had been in his entire life. Yet, even long afterward, he didn't feel a single pang of hunger.

Experiencing nothing but exhaustion and pain, Carlisle lay flat on the ground for what could have been hours. He wasn't sure. Part of him wanted to sleep, but he couldn't. He couldn't even manage to pass out. The pain was ever-present. If he could have slept, he thought, the dreams would have been painful too.

What was wrong with him?

After what could have been a day (or perhaps a century, who knew?) Carlisle felt as though the pain was no longer worsening. It was far from getting better, but at least it wasn't becoming more severe by the minute like it had before. The voice of reason (who was now getting stronger) informed him of the likely possibility someone would come down for a potato. With this knowledge and the fear that it instilled, Carlisle managed to drag himself on his hands a knees into a dark, rounded-off cranny behind what felt like some empty crates.

Even if someone found him, the outlook wasn't good. Provided they knew the Cullens, as most of the locals did, they would only drag him back to his house, thus forcing him to admit his failure to his father. On top of that, he would be blamed for the death of the entire army, who had all indubitably fallen in the underground battle with the coven.

Admittedly, dying in a cellar seemed the preferred route.

It was as though movement had given him new energy. After a few minutes of listening to his thoughts race and his stomach churn, apathy became a sorely missed luxury.

_How long would this last?_

_On the off-chance he survived, where would he go when all was finished?_

_Would this end at all?_

Why was his neck healing so quickly?

Of all his questions, this was the most logically bizarre and thus perplexed him the most. A gash that sizeable should take months and a few stitches to heal properly, provided one managed to evade contamination and it did at all. Why, then, was the skin simply mending itself like water droplets fusing together on a rainy windowpane? The actual cut was closed up already, and he could feel that the scab was dry and hard. Though he couldn't see it, Carlisle knew the bleeding had long since stopped.

How odd.

As Carlisle's faculties slowly returned, he became more and more alarmed. Something was happening, something with which he was horribly unfamiliar. He wasn't the same man he had been when he felt the vampire teeth graze across his neck back above the ground. Though he was hesitant to admit it, even to himself, Carlisle had few hypotheses as to what could be taking place. He shut them out obstinately. There was no way.

Some part of Carlisle wanted to cry. It sounded stupid and pointless even to him, but it wasn't like anyone was down here to see him. He was in more pain than ever before in his life, it had logically been hours since he had eaten or even wanted to _consider_ eating, he was separated from anything that he had ever loved, and he didn't even know when any of this was going to change.

In Carlisle's mind, these things merited a few tears. Sighing raggedly, he resigned himself and waited almost impatiently for them to start falling.

But strangely enough, they never came.

He looked around now, and was surprised to be able to make out shapes in the darkness. There were crates of potatoes stacked wall-to-wall, and several little piles of them sitting around on the floor. A shelf with a few jars on it sat in the corner beside the door. It was funny, now, that his surroundings were so clear. His eyes usually adjusted fairly quickly after he entered a room and then the level of clarity remained the same. Somehow, over the time that he'd been here, it was almost as though his eyesight had improved.

Carlisle's reverie of confusion lapsed for a moment when he heard a dreaded creaking sound. Someone was coming down to his place of refuge. He shifted towers of crates around in front of him until he was certain that his hiding place was well obscured. Had potatoes always been so light and easy to move?

No time to think about that.

By this point, distinct footsteps could be heard on the packed dirt floor.

Carlisle was far too anxious to notice that the light from the cellar door didn't blind him, even after days of darkness. All he could focus on was the silhouette of a young woman coming through the small wooden passage. A light breeze followed her, catching her long hair and the corner of her skirt. She reached dangerously close to Carlisle to pick up a few of the potatoes.

The effect was instant and terrifying.

Suddenly, every single thought in Carlisle's head was one of trapping and brutally killing her. Every nerve ending in his body screamed for him to lunge at her while he still could. She was fresh and young, and she smelled so full of _life_. Life that he desperately needed!

Carlisle was horrified.

_Leave, damn you!_ he silently willed her. _Get out now, for your own safety's sake!_

The madness wasn't ending. He gripped the crates until he was sure his knuckles were white. Finally, the cellar door opened and closed, and the waves of bloodlust seemed to abate.

As soon as the woman left, Carlisle slumped back against the wall. After all the panic, he wanted to catch his breath.

But he didn't feel breathless.

His heart should have been racing too. But it wasn't. In fact, he couldn't feel any heartbeat at all. His hands beginning to shake, Carlisle felt his wrist. Nothing. Well, that was excusable… his pulse might be too weak to register so far from his heart. After all the pain, that kind of made since. Surely he'd feel something on his neck.

Raising his hand to the place where his neck met his skull, Carlisle pressed down with his index and middle finger. Nothing. Other side, then? Nothing there either. Carlisle's eyes widened, and he muffled into his sleeve a scream of terror and understanding.

He was becoming _one of them_.

Naturally, the possibility had occurred to him earlier when the potatoes seemed so repulsive and his arm healed so mysteriously. He had painstakingly pushed it out, unwilling to believe that he could fall victim to something so foreign, so vulgar. But now, with a numb sense of finality, everything was coming together. He could see perfectly in the darkness. He didn't need to breathe. He didn't have a heartbeat. He couldn't cry. The want, the _need_ to devour human life was already beginning to consume him.

It was only a matter of time.

Carlisle moaned into his sleeve; the physical pain hardly seeming to be an issue anymore. His life wouldn't go on like this; he wouldn't live in darkness and prey on innocents. He refused.

What of the young woman, then?

It was only a matter of time until she returned, and thinking of it, he already felt a prickle of thirst in the back of his throat. No, no, _no!_ He could feel the voice in the back of his mind, once the source of reason that led to his survival, willing her to return. No one would miss her. It would be quick. And he was _so hungry_.

Carlisle's hands balled into fists, and he gritted his teeth until they should have throbbed. Why now? Why him? Why like this?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed silently.

_God, I know you're not listening. I'm not on your side anymore. You wouldn't want me, and you know I don't want me either. Just smite me now, before I can hurt any innocents. It's not worth this…_

Minutes passed. Carlisle still sat in the cellar, his fingernails digging into his unresponsive palms. Heavenly judgment didn't seem to be coming.

Were there any other options?

Well, clearly, he had to get out of there. But into the crowded streets of London? The streets that swarmed with women and their children, working men drinking tea and reading newspapers? He couldn't do it.

But he'd have to. There weren't any other choices. Getting to his feet, Carlisle felt an instant change.

The pain stopped. Not even a dull ache remained. He flexed his fingers hesitantly, terrified that it would return as quickly as it had abated. However, after a minute or two, he began to grow certain that it was finally gone for good. For the first time, he seemed to be able to think clearly again. He had to be able to use that to his advantage; his whole existence prior to the change had been based on his abilities to think above and beyond other men!

But where the pain once had been, now another problem arose, perhaps one more severe than even the pain had been. It was hunger – outrageous, insatiable amounts of hunger. Worse even than that which he had felt when the girl had come down and almost met her death in the cellar.

Well, perhaps the hunger was not _insatiable,_ the logic voice reminded. But Carlisle refused to consider the alternatives. _The_ alternative. There was only one, after all.

Hunting.

Carlisle shook his head, his usually perfectly-kempt but now dirty and tangled blonde hair falling into his eyes, which he didn't even a mirror to tell him were glowing red. He had to go up to the surface. If he stayed down here, he would kill the girl and then his hunger would eventually lead him up to the surface where more of her kind would fall victim to the hunger… to _him_. He had to get as far away from the humans as possible before that could happen.

Pushing towards the door, Carlisle felt his head spinning. He was _famished_. And vampire hunger didn't feel like human hunger. It was an all-consuming obsession, very different from the familiar dull ache that could be ignored if one found other ways to occupy his time. But Carlisle would find a way to do that with vampire hunger – if it killed him.

_Killed him._

An idea occurred to Carlisle – a painful idea, but one that he knew had to be the only choice the second that it came to him. If God in heaven wasn't going to intervene, he would simply have to take care of the smiting on his own. The issue of damnation no longer hovered; he had no chance of getting into heaven after what he'd become.

There had to be a way to kill a vampire… hadn't there?


	2. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen

Here's Edward's installment! R/R! :)

I had to do a little re-vamp-ing (Get it? Vamp? haha) after I got a review from 2White Flame16. I had mixed up some of the syntax in Edward's change. Ugh! I always research all this so painstakingly and then get the obvious stuff wrong. What would I do without all of you around here to police me? Anyway, I hadn't used the info from New Moon regarding Edward's change, and it was pretty vital and detailed. So it's updated now, and all the quotes and whatnot match up. :)

Thanks muchly!

* * *

The hospital was as full as he'd ever seen it. It was a relatively new facility and was created to comfortably house three hundred patients – they now had about four-hundred fifty and were turning people away. The hallways were crowded with gurneys and they were short about two hundred oxygen masks and had been forced to start giving injections instead.

But Elizabeth Masen meant the most of any of them – at least to Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

She had been so steadfast when he first saw her – hardly like the other women who brought in sick children, all but sobbing into his coat that he find them a bed, cure them _somehow_. No, Elizabeth had been firm and steadfast as she led Edward into the hospital lobby an hour or so after midnight and inquired as to the possibilities of treatment.

There had only been about ten people milling around at that point. Normally there would have been more despite the early hour, but Chicago had long since put limits on crowd-sizes in order to stymie the spread of the influenza. The other mothers had thought Elizabeth uncaring from her demeanor, but Carlisle knew better. He saw the intense pain in her eyes, and knew that if she allowed any of it to escape, she'd never be able to stop… he understood.

The hospital rooms had all long since been filled, but one had been freed up that morning by the death of another influenza patient. It was there that Carlisle placed Edward. With sadness in his eyes almost to match Elizabeth's, he informed her that he would do all he could for Edward. She nodded.

"Thank you, doctor. I lost my husband to the epidemic at Fort Riley – he was a Colonel stationed there; one of the first to contract the disease. I recognized the symptoms when Edward awoke ill this morning."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Carlisle had replied softly, thankful that his vampiric state prevented any tears from coming. Elizabeth's calm acceptance was perhaps the most dismaying part of it all. She first lost her husband, and now was facing the possible death of her son. _How much suffering did one person have to bear?_

Carlisle's question, though rhetorical, had been answered rather rudely when Elizabeth herself was admitted to the hospital with the same symptoms of Spanish Influenza barely a week later. He had his suspicions that it had been caused by her frequent visits to her son's bedside, but in his staunch politeness he never mentioned it. Instead, he moved a gurney into Edward's room so that he could treat the mother-son pair side by side. It was the least he could do.

They had been a heart-wrenching pair to watch during those evening meetings. Elizabeth would stand beside her son's bed in the low-lit room and speak quietly. Edward's cheeks were flushed from the fever and he could barely speak well enough to respond to his mother's anxious questions, but he gripped her hand with strength that Carlisle couldn't believe he possessed. Finally, she would tell him to get some rest so that he could get better and come home. Before she departed, she would always leave a final kiss on her son's fevered forehead. Carlisle knew that she feared each time would be the last.

When Elizabeth was admitted to the hospital herself, the bills for the Masen family's care became even more outrageous than before. She had to start pawning the family heirloom jewelry to pay the bills in the absence of her husband's paychecks. Though he didn't tell her, Carlisle had plans to purchase all the jewelry to save for Edward in the event of her death. And sadly, that circumstance seemed more and more likely with each passing day. Despite her determination and calm façade, Carlisle could see Elizabeth's fighting spirit dying.

As he suspected, things declined at a surprising rate. Perhaps from depression or lack of a will to fight caused by witnessing her son's suffering first-hand, (a downside to putting them in the same room that Carlisle had not foreseen) Elizabeth succumbed more quickly than most. She had barely been in his care for a week when she began to exhibit cyanosis – the lack of oxygen in the extremities that almost certainly led to death. Though he hadn't informed her of this fact, she could immediately tell from his demeanor what was taking place. One afternoon, while Edward slept, she breached the subject.

"I'm not naïve, Doctor. I know that I'm dying. Please be honest with me – how long do I have?"

Carlisle paused, wondering how to respond, but relented when he saw the tears gathering – for the first time since they'd met – in the corners of her eyes.

"A week – maybe a little more."

"I suspected so much. Dr. Cullen, I have a favor to ask."

"It's Carlisle," he'd replied softly, taking one of her bluish, oxygen-deprived hands in his own. She smiled a little, closing her eyes as a few more tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Carlisle. I implore that you do anything in your power to save my son. And I have my reasons to believe that includes more than would apply to the average physician."

Carlisle stiffened, temporarily taken aback.

"Don't worry," she'd said hoarsely, turning her head to cough. "Your secret is safe with me – whatever it is."

Carlisle didn't reply. Elizabeth opened her eyes, her grip on his hand becoming fiercer.

"I'm waiting for your _promise_, Carlisle."

"You don't want that for Edward," he said softly, wiping away a few of her tears. Elizabeth's eyes hardened and she shied away from his cool touch.

"If it precludes his survival, I do," she snapped. However, her voice softened after another coughing spell wracked her weakened body. "Carlisle, trust me. You must. You must do everything in _your_ power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."

Carlisle's mind was racing. She had no idea what she was asking of him! He couldn't imagine doing something like that to another human being, especially one so young. Edward had hardly begun to live – and he was to be condemned to an eternity of servitude to hunger and centuries of loneliness?

Suddenly, something dynamic occurred to Carlisle.

_It wouldn't be like that_.

Edward would have a companion.

The doctor's calculations halted to an immediate, forceful stop. _He_ could raise Edward; bring him up to be righteous and considerate of human life. He could be like a father, they would be like a family, and _Carlisle wouldn't be alone anymore either_.

"I promise."

The words were out before Carlisle could take them back. Elizabeth smiled once more through her tears – and just like that, she was gone.

It had all happened so quickly.

Dr. Cullen closed his eyes, internally screaming as he pulled the white sheet over Elizabeth Masen's pale, finally cool features. Why had he let his self control lapse so much at so critical a moment? He should have refused Elizabeth point-blank; left the room without turning back. How _dare_ she demand that for her son, when she barely even knew what it was?

And moreover, if he was already bound to changing Edward, why did _Elizabeth_ have to die? He would never, never let the life of such a strong, beautiful woman slip through his fingers like that again. Next time, he _would_ do whatever it took. Edward deserved a mother.

But now, he had a promise to keep.

Carlisle's shiny black shoes clicked ominously as he walked down the hall to the East Wing to get a second gurney for Edward. His plan was becoming more and more elaborate. He could say they had both died. Believeable enough, and it wasn't like any of the other doctors could hear without aid the sound of a heart beating. Elizabeth could remain in the morgue, but he would remove Edward... take him home... _and change him_.

A new question was forming in his mind, one of many that he had not considered in the moment he acquiesced to Elizabeth's demand.

Was this _thing_ that he was going to do even possible?

He had never before bitten a human being. He had no idea what kind of temptation human blood could drudge up from the depths of his painstakingly suppressed desire. He could only allow himself one bite, after all – and then he would have to stand up and walk away. Edward would need all the strength he could get in his years as a newborn. After that one taste of the forbidden nectar, would Carlisle be able to abstain for eternity? More imminently, would Edward survive the encounter?

In the reflection in a glass case nearby, Carlisle could see his own almost-black irises. He'd been too absorbed in his work to go hunting, and though that had once been understandable it was now inexcusable. He was out of time, and now would have to face this feared anathema as ill-equipped as he had ever been.

Again – would this even be possible?

It was far too soon for his liking that he found himself back at Edward's bedside with the second gurney. Though Carlisle had anticipated having to awaken him, the boy opened his eyes as he stood over him.

"Hello... Dr. Cullen," Edward said, his voice raspy. The act of speaking was not a good one. In his desperation for air, he sat up as he coughed. Carlisle pulled out his own handkerchief and held it to Edward's mouth, cringing when it came back spotted with blood.

"There's no need to talk, Edward," Carlisle soothed, helping the boy lie back down. Edward shook his head, the last of the coughs escaping into his shoulder. When they stopped, he opened his mouth to speak again despite Carlisle's caution.

"My mother... she died?"

It wasn't a horrified demand or even a plea to be told otherwise. In fact, the question was one of utmost peace.

"How did you know?" Carlisle asked, knowing that Edward couldn't possibly have been told. Edward swallowed.

"Doesn't... matter. Is there something else you wanted to tell me?"

Carlisle nodded, wondering how he should word what he was going to say. Or if he should even try. Finally, he sighed and spoke slowly.

"Edward, in her last moments, your mother asked that I do anything in my power to save you. I made her that promise, and I am about to do something that you aren't going to understand. It will hurt terribly, but only for a short while. All I ask is that you have faith in my honesty and intentions."

Edward nodded, opening his eyes and regarding Carlisle with hesitation.

"I... trust you."

"Thank you," Carlisle said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Edward, I'm going to ask you to pretend that you have died. I'll put this sheet over your head, and you have to promise me that you won't move."

Edward's expression was one of deep confusion, but he nodded slowly and closed his eyes. Carlisle pulled the sheet up over his face and placed him on the gurney. Hailing a passing nurse, Carlisle asked her if she would move Elizabeth's body. It would look unnatural for him to be able to so easily push two cots down the hallway. However, he would have to make certain that he did end up with Edward's - just in case the boy happened to move involuntarily.

Though only a few minutes of conversation passed as Carlisle and the nurse walked down to the morgue together, it felt like years. Somehow, Edward managed to withold his ever-present coughing. When the nurse had departed, Carlisle pulled the sheet back and Edward opened his eyes.

"What now?" he asked softly.

"We must leave this place," Carlisle replied. Edward looked as though he had been expecting that response, but he still looked hesitant.

"Before... that," he ventured, "might I see my mother?"

Carlisle immediately felt guilty; in all his anxious planning, Edward's grief hadn't even occured to him.

"Of course you may," he replied. "Just a moment."

Walking over to where Elizabeth lay, Carlisle took a moment to close her eyes and straighten her hair. Even in death, she was beautiful. She looked quite a bit like her son; the same perfect-oval face and long lashes. It was painful for Carlisle too, even though he had only known her for such a short time.

_All the more reason to keep the promise._

Knowing that Edward could likely not stand on his own, Carlisle picked him up eaily and carried him to her side. Edward seemed perplexed by how little effort Carlisle seemed to be exerting when moving another essentially grown man, but didn't mention it.

If Carlisle had found it difficult to watch the mother and son pair when they were both alive, it was nothing compared to Edward's tender expression of grief. He ran his sweaty, fevered hand across his mother's hair gently, before motioning for Carlisle to lower him down enough to place a final kiss on _her_ forehead. When all this was finished and Edward had wiped the few tears that he had cried away from his face, he gave Carlisle a long look.

"Your skin... you look like she does," he whispered. "Why?"

Carlisle closed his eyes for a moment in frustration at all the bitter, sad, terrible irony of the moment.

"Edward, I fear that you will very soon find out."


	3. Esme Anne Platt Evenson Cullen

Thanks for the feedback, guys. :) I'd love to see even a little bit more... hinthint. Haha. But seriously - I hope you guys like it. This is my beta's fave chapter - go into that knowing it. And one reminder - according to the Lexicon, Carlisle and Esme first met when he set her leg after she broke it climbing a tree at the age sixteen. For my interpretation of those events, see the story _Dr. Cullen's Tua Cantate_. ;) But with no further ado, enjoy Esme Anne Platt Evenson Cullen's edition of _Going Cullen_!

* * *

Dr. Carlisle Cullen navigated swiftly through the endless rows of gurneys, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He was terribly perplexed, and that was for him rather unusual. But he knew he wasn't imagining it. There was no way. It was too rich, too strong, too _familiar_. And the sight would be too horrific. It simply couldn't be true.

He smelled the distinct scent of blood. Flowing, pulsing blood. In his line of work that was clearly far from unusual, but it was the source that proved such a mystery right now.

One did not usually find life in abundance on the mortuary level of a hospital.

He'd seen it happen, of course; doctors have been known to give a misdiagnosis in a rush. Things happened, after all. But this was the twentieth century, for heaven's sake! Medically trained professionals should certainly be more than capable of telling the difference between a living human being and a cadaver.

But there was no question – someone had slipped past.

Carlisle felt that he was approaching the source of the smell. In closer proximity, he could tell that it had to be a human female with a weak pulse and a body below the ordinary human temperature. His chest tightened as he realized that the likelihood was only growing that his fears were about to be confirmed. He lessened his pace dramatically, and, in doing so, finally managed to pinpoint the source of the scent. Carlisle hesitantly approached the gurney in question and placed a hand on the smooth metal edge.

It was warm – naturally.

He took a deep breath and pulled back the sheet.

It_ was _Esme_._

No.

How? Why?

She was stunning as ever. Her face was so calm, so docile. She looked asleep. In fact, she hardly looked more alive than the other occupants of the room. Somehow, Carlisle almost understood the mistake that the other doctor had made in sending her down here. Her breathing was shallow; her face was chalky and pale. And for that matter, the other doctor hadn't had the advantage of being able to hear a human heartbeat unaided. If that really qualified as an advantage.

The first time they met was in Columbus, back in 1911. She had only been sixteen and had broken her leg while climbing a tree. It had been a difficult break, but she'd been _so_ brave. At the time, he remembered being attracted to that; to that and to her bright, sweet eyes and soft caramel-colored hair. He sternly reminded himself that she was not only very young but also human, with a whole life ahead of her. Esme – and the fear of temptation that she represented – had honestly been part of the reason he left for Chicago.

Oh, Esme... Seven human years had passed, but it was as though she had limped into the Columbus emergency room the day before.

_How time passed for others, even when it didn't pass for him!_

He had known she was in town. Secrets never stayed secrets in a town like Ashland, Wisconsin,and especially not the secrets of pregnant, unwedded women. He couldn't believe the crushed feeling he got when he heard. Now any hope of a relationship with her was impossible. _Completely impossible_.

As though it had ever _been_ possible.

Despite his deepest yearnings, Carlisle hadn't allowed himself to see her. He was afraid the old feelings wouldreturn. However, in a sick twist of irony, word somehow had reached him that she was staying in an old hotel beside the neighborhood where Carlisle and Edward had been staying. Carlisle told his son what had taken place and asked him if he would keep tabs on what Esme and the baby were thinking. Reluctantly, Edward had agreed.

Though Edward strongly advised him against meddling, Carlisle couldn't help but continue to ask how they were doing, and Edward would always give in and tell him. It wasn't _really_ getting involved, after all, as Carlisle assured himself. It was just something comforting – for his own benefit. However, everything changed when breathing complications caused the baby's abrupt death four days after the two left the hospital.

At the time, it had occurred to Carlisle to transform the child in its last moments. It was an impossible as well as _impossibly stupid_ idea, and he knew it at the time. The child stood no chance of surviving the experience – it wasn't even ready to live as a _human_. And it was unreasonable to expect anyone to want an immortal infant, frozen at a completely helpless stage of its life. Add to that the reaction he would be certain to expect from the Volturi...

Yes, it was a terrible idea, and he would never have honestly intended to act on it.

But something about his love for Esme made Carlisle wish he could have, no matter what the cost. He didn't want her to hold something motionless and unresponsive. He would have given _anything_…

And now, it was startlingly clear what he must do.

It was simple to discern from her injuries as well as the charts that Esme had taken her own life, or tried very hard to. Sometimes, as Carlisle also understood better than most anyone, being strong enough to survive was not always a blessing. She bore all the marks of someone who had suffered serious impact wounds, and, in fact, all the marks of someone who had died from them. It seemed from her breathing that one of her lungs had collapsed, and it barely took a physician to tell that her legs were positively shattered.

Somehow, this made what he had to do a little bit easier to stomach.

Quickly trying to assemble some kind of logic or justification from the pieces of her story that he knew, Carlisle remembered that the woman had been married to a soldier from World War I. He didn't know all the details, but from what Edward had been able to figure out and had been willing to tell him, she left her husband and moved to Ashland in hopes of a new start. Due to complications, she was placed on bed-rest for her final trimester.

Likely, she wouldn't be missed for quite some time – probably until her next rent payment was due. And he could handle that well enough.

When the solution had occurred to Carlisle, he hadn't been thinking about Esme as a vampire, exactly. It had been simpler to see Esme as _not_ another dead human. He couldn't allow anyone he loved so much to just die and cease to be - it was as simple as that.

He didn't think about the fact that she would be faced with some of the hardest years of eternity, and would be in need of a counselor. A guide. A comforter.

Carlisle felt his stomach tighten, and then leap. This was it – this was his chance. Companionship. Somebody to come home to at night who would respond with open arms and a kind smile. A woman in his life. And it would be _her_ – it would be Esme! The impossible had become possible. The ways their paths kept crossing despite his precautions; it had to be the action of some higher power.

This was _right_ – he could feel it!

But what would this mean for Edward? Certainly, he'd been a wonderful, perhaps even a _perfect_ son. But that kind of companionship was completely different. Esme would hold a tender, female place in their lives. And that was a role that they currently lacked very painfully.

Carlisle often noticed a sad, distant look in Edward's eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't improve the mood of his son as much as he would have liked. The boy tried so, so hard. But his life was impossibly full of pressure. He was _very_ young, as vampires went, and trying to ignore the thirst for human blood was all but impossible, no matter how often Carlisle took him hunting. He also missed his human life. He hadn't ever had the time to grieve properly for his parents before Carlisle had changed him, and the pain was something unnatural in his memory, making it all the harder.

He needed a mother so deeply. Just as deeply as Carlisle needed a wife.

Esme. Esme Cullen. She would like that, wouldn't she? She had to. Carlisle thought of himself as someone who could be lived with quite easily, and Edward adapted well to change, too. They could make her life happy. Of course.

Carlisle felt Esme's pulse again, though he could still hear the steady beat and smell the way her blood rushed. It was faint, but present. She was comatose, which would make the transformation a little easier. That is, if anything could make something like the transformation from human to vampire any less than excruciating. Looking around, Carlisle found an emergency exit. Lifting Esme's impossibly light body, he picked up speed towards the door.

Suddenly, they were out.

The night was dark and cool, and Carlisle clutched Esme close to him as he raced to his car. Placing her gently on the backseat of the imported Crossley 20/25, he sped back towards the house where Edward would undoubtedly be waiting, practicing piano or working on some of his chess moves. The trip home went by quickly, mostly because of the thousands of thoughts occupying his mind. He arrived long before he felt ready to confront his son.

The moment came more quickly than Carlisle had anticipated. Naturally, Edward was waiting for him at the door. He had had ample time to discover what was taking place as Carlisle approached the house and got out of the car with Esme. For a moment, Carlisle wondered if he should have guarded his thoughts a little better, but decided it would have been of no use.

"You're sure about this?" Edward asked him gravely. "You know as well as anybody the pain that it involves. You're willing to choose it for her?"

Carlisle gritted his teeth and nodded.

"You know her story by now, Edward, do you not?"

"Well, yes. But this is a big decision, regardless," Edward reminded him. "You really can't just make a habit of turning every helpless, dying human into vampire. It's not meant to work that way."

"I know," Carlisle replied, "but give her a chance. This could be good for all of us."

The two of them were silent for a moment, but Edward's eyes suddenly widened.

"You're thinking… like _that_. You want her to stay with us. You realize that would make us a coven, don't you? That's _dangerous_, Carlisle, even the way we live."

Carlisle nodded grimly, giving Edward an imploring look.

"Edward, you know how badly _we_ need this," he said. "And look at her. She needs hope too – even if it has to be like this."

Another silence passed. Edward wasn't sure if he had ever seen his adoptive father so emotional or up-front about anything. Carlisle needed this woman. He needed companionship in ways that Edward couldn't give. And, of course, since it was Carlisle, there was nothing selfish about it. He wanted Edward to have a mother-figure, and was willing to do something as difficult as change an almost-dead human to provide his son with that.

"Your reasons are good," Edward finally said. "I'm not about to say that I agree with what you're doing, but the decision is yours. I trust you, Carlisle."

"Thank you. I can honestly say that means quite a lot to me."

Edward walked outside, knowing the process would be easier on Carlisle if he were not there. He could feel the intensity and pain in his father's thoughts, and knew that the decision was being agonized over. Even if he didn't agree with Carlisle's choice, it was not his burden to bear.

Edward walked further away in the attempt of giving his father some privacy, but heard Carlisle's thoughts up until the end. And as the venom pulsing in her veins brought the woman back to some semblance of life, he could hear her thoughts as well. Not that there was much there to hear – just pain. Lots and lots of pain. He was reminded of his own experience being changed, and took a ragged breath despite the lack of necessity for such.

_Was it ever worth the price?_


	4. Rosalie Lillian Hale

Shekiah Rosay here. :) I've spent forever working on this one, so it BETTER BE GOOD! I'd say planning commenced in June. It's a planned series, and my beta is in on it too. That means fewer grammatical/temporal errors for you guys. :) Hopefully, there will be one installment for each of the original seven Cullens regarding how they became vampires. I really need some insight on this one, so REVIEW! :D

That's all I've got, really. Huge shoutout to my beloved beta, veritinme, and my equally beloved gamma, Alu. Thanks, both of you guys!

* * *

**_Rosalie Hale_**

* * *

He wasn't sure why he had smelled the blood from so far away. Naturally, it had been awhile since he'd hunted, so he was attuned to it, but he couldn't help but wonder if there was a bit of destiny involved as well. Otherwise, it wouldn't have seemed so plausible. And the idea of destiny tied to this beautiful creature seemed not only possible, but to be expected.

She looked like an angel who had taken a fall from a particularly high cloud as she lay there on the pavement, provided one could look past the horror and pain etched on her face. Her blonde hair, though tinted pinkish in places from the red snow that framed her face, surrounded her head like a halo. Her long, lithe limbs were splayed out around her, seeming to glow despite their lattice of tiny cuts.

Naturally, he recognized her. Rosalie Hale. The most beautiful girl in town – perhaps in the state. Well, the most beautiful human girl. When one was faced with something like vampiric beauty, it was almost as if beauty became essentially inconsequential. It was just one other thing among all other things that humans considered so important…

If only they knew.

Carlisle took a deep breath, unsure as to what he should do. She clearly wasn't hoping for survival at this point; there weren't even dragging marks to indicate that she'd made an effort to find help. She just laid there, her chest rising a little less with each breath.

"Poor child," he breathed, though he'd realized at the time that she was hardly a child at all. She was really only about five years his junior. In appearance, at the very least.

Well, first thing's first. If there was a possibility of saving her rather than the obvious last resort, he'd have to take it. Either way, she wasn't going to die. Not this way.

Carlisle knelt over the girl, laying a cool hand on her neck to check for a pulse. She jerked, and her eyes fluttered open.

"No, don't," she begged, her voice weak as a kitten's. "No more."

"I don't want to hurt you, child," he'd breathed. "Just stay with me. Stay awake."

"But I'm so tired… so cold. It hurts so badly…"

"You'll be warm soon enough," he promised, his voice cracking a little despite his efforts. "I'm going to move you to my coat."

"Don't… the cold is clean."

Rosalie didn't think about how little sense she was making. She really didn't think much at all. Mostly she just wanted Dr. Cullen to go away – to go home. It had been close to over before he'd arrived. She had felt it. Suddenly, she felt herself being gently rolled on to a large overcoat. Though the cold lessened, the wool was rough against her many open scrapes.

"That hurts," she protested weakly.

"I know it does, and I'm terribly sorry. But you must do something for me. Keep talking; don't give in."

"I can't." She took a shuddering breath.

Carlisle shook his head.

"You can, you have to. The pain will end."

"The pain… it isn't ever going to end."

Carlisle knelt over her, understanding that she was talking from a physical standpoint but well aware of the psychological ramifications that underscored her statement as well. Her eyes were dark blue, but clouded over with a pain that he could barely recognize. He was well aware what she had been subjected to, despite his late arrival on the scene.

Rape.

What a horrible, disgusting thing. From the looks of it, it hadn't been just one man. Clumsily done, clearly. He didn't think the intention had been to harm her body this severely, but things tend to get out hand in circumstances like that. She had become something weak and disposable as the act continued.

Carlisle swallowed his revulsion, realizing that there wasn't time to think about it now.

"Can you talk to me some more, Rosalie?" he asked, brushing some of her silky hair back from a gash on her forehead. She whimpered a little as his cool hand brushed her cheek.

"You know my name," she observed softly, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Of course I do, Rosalie… everybody in Rochester does," he said as he reached back to get his bag of medical instruments.

"Don't save me, don't doctor me," she said, trying to shy away from his touch. "There's… nowhere to go."

"Rosalie, I need for you to stay as calm as you can. I'm going to look at your head," Carlisle said evenly, taking a piece of gauze out of his bag and soaking it in an alcohol solution. As he wiped off the excess blood, the damage became evident.

He should have counted on a concussion.

From what he could tell, she had been forced down to the ground and her head had collided with the old lightpost as she resisted. The gash was sizeable, and he could see stark bruises forming against her pale skin. Carlisle sighed, resisting the urge to swear as he looked around.

"Rosalie, I need to take you to a place where I can help you more," Carlisle said. "We're going somewhere less cold."

"Not the hospital," Rosalie pleaded. "Please not there."

Carlisle shook his head.

"We're going back to my house," he replied. "No one will see you, and my wife and her brother can help take care of you."

"Just leave…"

Picking her up as gently as he could, Carlisle held one hand behind her knees and used the other to cradle her head as he would an infant's.

"I'm going to run, now, Rosalie. I'll hold on to you – just don't be afraid."

Clearly too weakened to resist, Rosalie simply placed a bloody hand over his shoulder and closed her eyes as he sped off.

"We're flying," she mumbled. Carlisle shushed her gently.

"It just feels like we're going that fast. You hit your head."

"I can feel the wind… it stings a little," she whispered.

"Just don't talk – we'll be home soon."

Rosalie could feel his breath against her neck, and it was cool and somehow sweet. Something about it reminded her of mints or perhaps something floral – like the fresh scent out in the middle of the woods. It was strangely calming, and she rested her head in the hollow of his neck. Almost as soon as she had, she could feel the pace lessen abruptly.

"We're home," he said softly, realizing that he was already speaking as though it were her home too. "I'm going to go talk to my family. You must wait here."

"Don't leave me!" Rosalie exclaimed, seizing his collar. She was instantly aware of how contrary this statement was to her protestations of earlier. But somehow, now that she knew she wasn't going to die alone in the snow, she was afraid again.

"I'm not leaving you. But my family needs to know that you're here."

Carlisle pried open her cool fingers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance as he lowered her gently on to a sofa on the porch. The wool had stopped stinging, and she wondered if the cool air had made her legs scab over faster.

Nearby, on the porch, a hushed but nevertheless fervent conversation was taking place between Carlisle and his wife.

"Someone will find out where she is…" Esme insisted.

"I was careful not to leave a trail."

"You know how hard this is going to be for Edward."

"Then take him out. Hunting, or something. Just for tonight. By tomorrow, I don't think that will be a problem anyway."

"You're not suggesting…?" Esme's voice trailed off.

Carlisle sighed.

"If I must."

"Just be careful," she replied, resigning herself. "That's all I ask."

"You know I will be. Take Edward and go – Rosalie needs to come inside."

Rosalie thought she felt herself lifted again once more, but it was somehow hard to tell. Things seemed little bit dream-like. She knew that things weren't as cold, but didn't know if it was from going in the house or just a change in how she felt. Things changed so quickly… Her neck and shoulders were numb now, too – it felt kind of funny, and she almost wanted to laugh…

It seemed as though everything up until now had been some strange dream. She might even have believed that, were it not for the throbbing in her head and Carlisle's quiet, patient presence above her. Even in her all-but-catatonic state, she could feel Carlisle's breath. It was fresh and clean as ever, and it was as though it was the only thing in the world that existed. The room smelled much like it – the same cool, woodsy sensation. She took a breath, but it was difficult, and it felt like all the air pushed itself back out again.

Carlisle placed two fingers beside Rosalie's neck to check her pulse, persisting when she shied away and murmured something about the cold. It was terribly weak, and growing steadily more so. There wasn't a second to waste – if time had ever been crucial, it was now. He didn't want it to come down to that. Anything else, so long as she stayed alive…

"Keep talking," he instructed, well aware that his list of options was narrowing. Rosalie thought that she was going to do as he said, but realized that nothing cohesive was coming out. It felt like something wasn't connecting…

"Rosalie Hale, I need you to talk to me!" Carlisle repeated, his voice rising.

I can't, I can't!

Everything within Rosalie was screaming this simple statement, but her lips couldn't form the words. She could feel herself slipping, somehow, but she couldn't get her balance and didn't want to try. The colors were fading…

"Rosalie, come back! Rosalie – "

Dr. Cullen's voice was fading away, like someone easing the volume down slowly on a radio.

And funny… the pain was actually lessening. Mercifully lessening. She wondered if the night might finally be ending. However, in an instant, something happened. There was a prickling sensation just where Carlisle had checked her pulse – it felt oddly like a kiss, and Rosalie wondered who would be kissing her.

But then it started.

It was like a million knives, starting at her wrists and ankles and radiating inwards. She could hear screaming, and knew that it had to be her own. The warm, drifting sensation was gone, and she felt as awake as she'd ever been. Her eyes were wide, but she couldn't see anything. Nothing but the horrible, stabbing pain. It was black, but it stung like a bright light. She knew she must be crying, but it didn't seem like anything was blurry. It was stark, actually – painfully so. Painfully – everything was pain. Pain was all there was.

Carlisle sat in a chair beside the sofa, his eyes full of silent hurt as he wiped his fist across his mouth. It came back tinted red, and he gave it a disgusted look before drifting his eyes back to Rosalie, who lay trembling on the bed, her mouth wide but her screaming already becoming hoarse.

"Three days, just three days, and no man will be able to hurt you like that again," he whispered, though he knew there was no way she would be able to hear.


	5. Emmett McCarty Cullen

Second installment! Yes, in case you guys were wondering, this is going to be a Wednesday thing. And to answer another question - I will be writing a background for each of the original seven Cullens. I'm posting them (roughly) in the order they were written. I like it better that way... go figure. Thanks for reading and reviewing - I'd love a little feedback from those of you who haven't reviewed yet. :) Thanks!

* * *

Rosalie wasn't certain as to why she had decided to go off on her own that morning.

She liked the family well enough, but the tent that she shared with Esme seemed cramped after awhile. And it wasn't like there was anything else to do – such as sleeping. No roasting anything over a campfire… none of that. Just sitting out in the woods. Edward and Carlisle liked that well enough, and she supposed the only thing to attribute that to would be manliness. Whatever.

She and Esme usually brought books to read or used the time to paint their nails and do each other's hair. It was funny to Rosalie that some people thought of Esme as her mother; it was honestly much more like having an older sister. Esme certainly wasn't old enough to be her mother; there were only about seven years between them, and it looked like even less. The two of them just connected as they would and decided that it didn't matter if the humans didn't have an adequate label for their relationship.

But Rosalie hadn't felt like being sociable that morning; not even with Esme.

It wasn't as though she was particularly thirsty, either. She'd hunted the night before with others and had caught a doe – her personal preference. She hadn't planned on eating again for some time. So it wasn't about hunting.

Maybe she just needed some time to herself.

She had wandered farther away from the campsite than she intended when it happened – not that that really mattered much. Nothing in these woods would be a danger to her, despite how the situation appeared. She was more formidable than most eighteen-year-old girls. But the situation definitely took her by surprise.

Human blood had been spilt – and in large quantity.

Rosalie took a deep breath, taking in everything about the smell. It was potent and rich – newly bled – and coming from the west. She rushed off in that direction, noticing as she traveled that there was no need to push aside branches. That was unusual, for these woods. They had clearly been navigated recently – by a human.

_The_ human, it was safe to assume.

As Rosalie entered a clearing, she couldn't help but gasp audibly.

It was a large grizzly – similar to the one Carlisle had hunted the night before, but maybe even bigger. Its eyes were wide with anger and its muzzle was stained red.

Rosalie knew the human had to be nearby – the smell was overpowering. Despite the fact that she had hunted so recently, she felt thirst prickle the back of her throat.

She had no time for such triviality.

Not distracting herself by searching for the human (whom she knew was still alive by the warmth of the blood-smell) Rosalie confronted the bear. She was well-aware that she was a confusing concept for the animal – she looked like a human, but didn't smell like much of anything. She never broke eye contact as they paced in a hunting circle. The bear made a few lunges towards her, but they were clumsy and she anticipated them.

Finally, sensing her ideal moment, Rosalie dashed in to the bear and made her kill.

The blood was warm as it filled her mouth, and it eased her thirst despite its palatable differences from that of a human. She drank deeply and quickly, but the blood cooled before she could finish.

Not that it really mattered.

Rosalie licked her lips demurely. That's all that clean-up required; she was a neat eater. Taking the bear's carcass, she flung it into some brush like Carlisle had taught her.

Now, to see to the _human_.

Rosalie's skin crawled a little bit as she thought about it. She hadn't ever fully recovered from her aversion to male humans in any form, and living ones were her least favorite.

But when she saw him lying there, suddenly none of that mattered at all.

Vera's little Henry. That's all she could think about. Not that this was a young boy – he could easily have been a year or so older than herself. But there was something about his face. It was roundish, and his cheeks were pink. Flushed from exertion, no doubt, but it added to the effect. His curly brown hair tumbled across his eyes, which were closed, but Rosalie knew that they had to be a warm, honey-brown.

But not for much longer, because she was going to save his life the only way she knew how.

It was a terribly selfish idea, particularly because she hated her own life so much. But that was partly why she wanted to do it. It wasn't that it was out of spite, or at least not spite directed towards the victim. _This_ human hadn't ever given her reason to feel malevolence toward him. He was just a man in the wrong place at the wrong time. She almost hoped that he had been awake to see the demise of the bear, so she would _have_ to turn him or kill him to keep her family's existence a secret, but he had missed it. No matter. Her mind was made up.

Rosalie bent over him, shifting his warm brown hair back from his face. This intensified his scent, and she couldn't help but shudder as yet another chill of thirst ran up her spine. He had an amazing aroma – the best that she could have imagined in a human. It was warm and rich, and kind of reminded her of coffee or caramel in her human days, only not as sweet.

Her reverie was stunted as he opened his eyes.

She realized with a flip of her stomach that they were exactly as she had expected – only more beautiful, if that was possible. The irises were a rich, lightish brown with little gold flecks. Rosalie hadn't noticed that she had been staring openly, because the boy was as well.

Emmett McCarty wasn't sure what had happened. The only thing he was remotely certain of was the fact that he was dead. On Earth, beautiful blonde girls didn't bend over half-dead hunters, and on the off-chance that they did, they didn't _glitter_. And this girl's beauty – it wasn't earthly. It was angelic, but almost too haunting to have come from heaven. He hadn't even thought about the fact that there was a possibility of life and movement in a creature this perfect – until she stepped back and gasped.

"Who – " he started, before she cut him off.

"Don't say a word."

He complied, and the silence that followed was tense. She seemed not to blink as she looked him over, assessing the seriousness of his wounds. It struck him for the first time since his awakening, despite his dream-like state, that he must not be dead. Pain supposedly ended with death – at least from what he'd heard.

"You don't have much time."

It wasn't even said sympathetically. It really sounded as though this crazed, stunningly gorgeous Angel of Death was simply stating a fact.

"What's that on your cheek?" Emmett demanded, his voice sounding quiet and far away in his head. Funny, though, her response was perfectly – eerily – clear.

"It's blood," she replied calmly, as though she didn't understand why this would be a reason for distress. Evidently, however, he'd made some kind of expression of his disconcertment, because she quickly elaborated.

"The bear's, not yours."

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Emmett realized that this shouldn't have made any sense at all. In the same thought, however, it also became apparent that he didn't care. He couldn't take his eyes off of her perfect angel-face and her startling gold eyes. He realized he was staring, but again couldn't bring himself to care.

Rosalie, on the other hand, hardly noticed the attention. If she did, it clearly didn't surprise her – she was dealing with a conundrum all her own. She _thought_ that she could do it. She had the means, naturally – the acrid taste of venom in the back of her throat prickled as a reminder. However, did she have the _self-control_? His blood was so sweet-smelling, so incredibly human… Would she be able to stop?

Time was running out; she'd have to make a decision. She looked at the tag hanging off his backpack to find his name.

"I'm taking you to Carlisle – Emmett."

Somewhere in the back of Emmett's mind, he processed that the fact was announced as though he was expected to have any idea who the hell Carlisle was or what he was going to do. However, these thoughts were cut short as Emmett again began to question whether or not he was alive or precisely what had occurred.

Because the lovely forest-nymph simply scooped him up in her arms and raced off through the woods as though he weighed no more than a small bag of flour.

Feeling dazed and more than slightly confused by the speed and the pain, Emmett closed his eyes and laid his head against her shoulder. She smelled like snow. It seemed funny to think of that as a smell, but it was the only thing fresh and clean enough to which he could liken it. It occurred to him that he might bloody her beautiful linen sundress, but then again, blood didn't seem to disconcert her. He felt languorous and almost asleep when he heard an alarmed female voice.

"Rosalie, what's this?"

"Calm down, Esme, he's hurt very badly."

"I can tell – I'm on my way to get Carlisle."

Emmett thought he might have heard footsteps, but for some reason, it felt as though he wasn't part of the circumstance. It seemed like he was actually watching from a distance…

"Rosalie, where did you find this man?"

This time the voice was a calm baritone.

"Near the lake. I think he got between a bear and her cubs."

"That _would_ explain it."

Emmett could feel himself being moved, and decided that he must be lying on some kind of makeshift stretcher. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of his abdomen. At first, he was sure that it had to be someone else's – after all, things were confusing and moving too quickly. And if he looked like that, there was _no way_ he could still be alive. As he thought all this, he could feel cool hands deftly probing his many wounds.

"Rosalie, dear, he's lost too much blood…" the male voice said, sounding sympathetic.

"I don't care. You've _got_ to save him."

Carlisle paused, his eyes narrowing as the gravity of what she was saying hit home. She wanted him to _change _this boy. Seal the fate of an unknown right here in this moment. Carlisle glanced up at Rosalie and knew immediately that there was no possibility of reconsideration in her sharp tawny eyes. But why would she want this for someone else?

"Rosalie, you've got to understand what you're asking me to do – especially feeling the way you do about this life…" he started tentatively. Rosalie sighed deeply.

"Carlisle, I know. I've thought it all through. Just… do it." Her voice took on a pleading tone. "For _me_. His name is Emmett, and he has beautiful brown eyes and a deep, sweet voice – he's not meant to die today."

Though Edward had long since understood the reasons and purpose for which Rosalie wanted to add this member to the Cullen clan, it registered for the first time with Carlisle after Rosalie's last statement. Gritting his teeth, he thought of Esme and how it had been for him the night he'd seen her lying there in the emergency room. It had been his chance. There was no way he could take a precious opportunity for companionship away from his daughter, regardless of her reasons…

Edward was clearly following Carlisle's consideration, but not agreeing with the mercy his father was willing to grant. Following the end of the last thought, he shot a penetrating look at Rosalie that made her eyes narrow. That accusation of the hypocrisy she couldn't deny would stick with her forever, but it was far from capable of lessening her resolve in the moment.

"Rosalie, we're losing him," Carlisle stated, breaking the moment. Rosalie gave something that sounded rather like a moan.

"Then _what are you waiting for?_"

"He's waiting for you to come to your senses," Edward said softly, but Rosalie ignored him.

"Carlisle, do it. Just do it. I'll help take care of him, just tell me what to do."

She watched as Esme and Carlisle exchanged a look. Edward, understanding, took Esme's hand and walked away from the scene with her. They talked together in low tones, but Rosalie was too wrapped up in the current predicament to tune in. Carlisle turned to her.

"He'll be quite loud and delirious for the first few minutes – we can't have people coming to investigate. You'll have to keep him as quiet as you can. If anybody _does_ come, though, at least we have a legitimate excuse. We can say it was a bear attack that I was forced to treat on the scene - that's not too out of the ordinary."

Rosalie nodded, expressionless. She placed a cool, white hand on either side of the boy's face.

"I'm ready."

Carlisle took a deep breath and lowered his perfect blonde head over Emmett's bloody chest. He placed his mouth across the boy's throat, and Rosalie looked away as a little bit of blood tricked down mixed with a clear substance she knew very well to be vampire venom. She couldn't watch this; she had to ignore the throbbing sense of guilt that rushed through her in waves…

But then the screams started. Rosalie immediately bent over him as Carlisle stood up and backed away.

"Calm down," she commanded softly. "Just listen to me."

Emmett immediately fell silent, but his eyes were wild. He grabbed Rosalie's arm wordlessly with a grip that probably would have broken the arm of a human girl. His breath was ragged and uneven.

"Just stay here with me… it will be okay," Rosalie said softly. "The pain will end."

Those words were familiar – the same ones that Carlisle had used when he changed her. Rosalie was almost angry that she was using them now too, after all the anger and hate that she'd associated with that night. But anything, _anything_ to make him stop. Anything to ease this horrible pain and fear that she had instigated, she had _caused_!

For a horrible moment, Rosalie wondered if what she was doing was so different from what Royce and his friends had done. She claimed to do this to Emmett in the name of love, but hadn't Royce said the same? The whole time, he'd said that it was just because she was so beautiful; he couldn't wait to make her his own… Just because he wanted her so much. Was it so different, how the act progressed? She loved Emmett, so she was putting him through terrible pain. Wasn't that the same concept – at the end of the day?

Rosalie placed a freezing, white hand over the trembling one with which Emmett still grasped her arm. She closed her eyes, willing these thoughts to end.

_It was completely different; it had to be…_


	6. Jasper Whitlock and Mary Alice Brandon

I thought about it for awhile, but finally decided that since this story is technically 'Going Cullen' rather than 'Going Vampire,' I'd do Jasper and Alice's installments together. Because they really joined the Cullen coven at the same time, and that was the part of the story I wanted to tell. And to get to that point, I kind of had to add a longer version of their meeting.

So, enjoy! :D

* * *

He wouldn't ever forget the first time he saw her.

She was small and rather nondescript, yet, at the same time, impossible to miss. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, and her black hair looked almost iridescent in the dim light from the bulbs hanging above the bar. However, he noticed something that shocked him – those tragically beautiful eyes glowed the same dark ruby as his own. He gasped a little, drawing back despite the instinct that drew him towards her.

"You've kept me waiting a long time," she said, giving Jasper a shy smile. He had never seen her before, but somehow, he felt as though she was right. He wasn't sure exactly how to reply, though…

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

It was the first thing that came out. As he spoke, she laughed and jumped off the stool where she had been diligently watching the door. With each step she took, he felt a little bit more intimidated, and took a step back. She noticed, and her eyes softened.

"Don't be afraid – I'm not here to hurt you," the girl said softly. Her somber expression quickly abated and she giggled a little bit, offering him her hand in a way that eerily resembled the southern belles around which he had been brought up. He took it gently, bending and kissing it. As he rose back up to meet her eyes, he voiced his earlier observation.

"You're… like_ me_," Jasper whispered breathily, tracing her cool palm with his slender fingers. She nodded, still smiling.

"That's why I've been waiting for you."

The two of them stood there together, and though the man at the almost deserted counter was watching them oddly, neither one even noticed. The rest of the world had ceased to be.

"Who are you?" he asked breathlessly.

"I've been told I went by Alice, though I don't think it describes me that well," she admitted. "I've gone by different things; I can't remember anything before the change. What do you think – does Alice work for me?"

"I might have to get to know you a little better first," he'd said, wanting to laugh. The sudden good humor was like a bolt of lightning, jolting him out of the weeks of catatonic apathy. As soon as it passed, he wanted it to come back. It was life – and strangely enough, he needed it.

"That's fine," she'd promised. "After all – we have all the time in the world."

"You want to stay with me?"

The words of disbelief were out before he could help them. He just couldn't understand why somebody like her – somebody so happy and free – would want to follow a ghastly killer like himself. However, the look of hurt in her eyes at his words made him want to snatch them back as soon as he'd said them.

"Do you want that, Major Whitlock?" she asked softly, tracing his forehead with her right hand. His eyes closed at the cool tenderness of her touch, and he noticed for the first time that he still gripped the hand that she'd given him upon their introduction. Jasper nodded; hardly even concerned with the fact that she knew his name and title and he hadn't mentioned either yet.

"Forever," he whispered. And he meant it. He realized at the time that he had hardly known her for five minutes, but he couldn't have let this hope leave him. There was no way.

"Excuse me, but you could you two either order something to drink or take this little love-fest somewhere else?" the bartender called loudly in his frustration. Slowly, Jasper and the mysterious Alice girl looked away from each other.

"This probably _isn't_ the place," she admitted quietly. Jasper nodded.

"Do you know of anywhere else we could go?" he asked, shocked to hear himself say the word "we." Things were happening so fast and so much beyond his control; his head was spinning.

"There's a bed and breakfast on the edge of town – we could get a room and have some privacy to talk," the girl suggested. Jasper nodded, almost laughing at the well-bred voice in his head that cried out that he was about to get a hotel room with a girl he'd met in a bar ten minutes before. The irony of the whole situation could have dissuaded him, had he not been so sure that for the first time in a century, he was on the right path.

"It's rainy, so we should hail a cab. To… avoid suspicion," Alice suggested, cracking a smile. Jasper nodded. Clearly, she was as adjusted to their lifestyle as he was. The camaraderie was beyond comforting.

The two walked out together, hand-in-hand. Jasper was afraid that he was holding on too tightly, but his companion didn't complain. Occasionally, as though sensing his fear and insecurity, she'd give his hand a gentle squeeze. He'd look over, and she'd give him one of her glorious smiles – the kind that made him truly believe that it was all going to be okay. The cab driver dropped him off, and Jasper gave him a few bills. Too anxious to count them out perfectly, he erred on the side of excess and told the man to keep the change.

"You're such a gentleman," Alice had laughed, tugging on his hand and leading him into the old antebellum house. Jasper had shrugged.

"I suppose old habits die hard."

Jasper reserved a room for the two of them with the matronly lady at the table in the lobby, and again dropped off a roll of bills. Alice raised an eyebrow.

"I can pay sometimes too."

"I could never make a lady pay," he said conclusively, and that had been the end of that.

Their room was the first one on the left at the top of the stairs, and the walls were sunny yellow with framed pictures of wildflowers. She made a face.

"Too countrified. This is _Philadelphia_."

"I don't mind it," Jasper replied softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's home-y."

His newfound friend came and sat beside him, entwining her hand through his again.

"I'm still waiting for the verdict on my name," she observed, raising an eyebrow.

Though he knew she was just trying to distract him from his old life and homesickness, Jasper gave her a helpless smile.

"I don't have any ideas at all."

"Well, do I _act_ like an Alice?" she asked, laughing.

Jasper regarded her carefully, taking in her brightly colored scarves and wide smile. She looked larger-than-life, just like the character out of the familiar childhood stories _Alice in Wonderland _and _Through the Looking Glass._

"Completely," he said finally. "You're lively and curious, and you love to laugh. Your smile influences everyone around you."

"So I _am_ Alice…" the girl looked thoughtful for a moment. "Not too common, but not outlandish, either. For the first time, I feel like it fits – I really, really like it. Alice it is."

She gave Jasper the widest smile yet.

"You're an astounding person, Alice – a ray of sunshine in a dismal, cold world," he'd said quietly. "I'd really like to know how you came into my life."

"It's a terribly long story," she sighed.

Jasper looked up, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, like you said – we _do_ have forever."

"Fair enough."

* * *

Jasper lay back on the bed, his eyes closed in peaceful relaxation, even though he clearly couldn't hope for sleep. Alice sat beside him, running her fingers through his shoulder-length blonde hair. Every so often, she'd say something, and he'd give a soft, thoughtful response. She loved the way he spoke; he'd never entirely lost his Texas drawl, and every so often it would come up in the way he said a certain word. She'd giggle and make him repeat it until he opened his eyes and gave her an amused look, at which point she'd apologize and tell him to go on.

As it turned out, Alice was absolutely truthful when she said she had no recollection of her human existence or the change. All she recalled was waking up – and the familiar, nigh-uncontrollable thirst that accompanied her first few years. Jasper had identified with this part of the story, his eyes expressing his empathy.

She knew everything about him, and she was more than willing to explain why – since they did plan on being together forever, after all. She had certain powers that not all of their kind possessed. Visions – tentative ones, but visions none the less. Beginning when somebody made a definitive decision, she could determine the future based on that course of action.

Finding out about Jasper had been easy, she'd explained – had she not met with him and interrupted the planned future, he would have spoken to the bartender for awhile and given his name and a little bit about himself. Of course, he would have explained the military title by saying that he had been a major wounded at the Battle of Midway rather than a casualty of the Civil War. By the time she'd decided to talk to him, she knew all that she needed to. And knew that they were meant to find one another that day.

Alice had been fascinated to learn all about his powers as well. She hadn't ever actually met another vampire with a gift like her own, and was very anxious to see it in action. She told him to make her mad – and though he refused at first, she finally managed to convince him. It was in this that Jasper learned about Alice's tendencies to get violent when angry, but she was fine – and dually impressed – when he calmed her back down.

Jasper opened his eyes suddenly, feeling another angry presence. Alice jerked up, giving him a questioning look.

"What's the matter?" she demanded. "I haven't seen anything dynamic in our future for at least another couple of days."

This was going to take some getting used to.

Jasper shook his head.

"It's nothing. Probably just a frustrated bellhop who got a bad tip. Sorry to disturb you – I'm a little on edge most of the time."

Alice gave him a pitying look, her crimson eyes glassy and deep. She took his left arm, running her fingers over the multitude of moon-shaped scars that ran up from his elbow to the nape of his neck.

"You were going to tell the bartender that you were attacked by a dog in your childhood," she said softly. Jasper nodded.

"That _is_ my customary excuse."

Alice sighed.

"It's as good as any. I'm so, so sorry that our kind can be like that, even to one another. Most of the time, I'm really sorry that we have to exist at all. We can be such horrible creatures, such cold-blooded killers…"

Jasper's face lowered in shame, but Alice placed an index-finger under his chin and raised it back up to meet her own.

"_We_ don't have to be," she whispered. "And it's not just us against the world, either. There are a few others out there trying to make our existence a little less brutal."

"Who?"

Jasper's response was intense and abrupt. He was completely enraptured by her words. The intense hope that he'd felt in his heart upon her arrival began to radiate out to his tired legs and arms, and he managed to hold his head up for long enough to regard her intense eyes.

"They go by the name of their leader, Cullen. They're members of a really big coven – except they don't call themselves a coven much. They actually say _family_."

"How can that be?" Jasper asked. The idea of his kind of people coming together and sharing enough mutual consideration to consider themselves a family seemed crazy, at least from what he'd seen.

"They don't prey on other humans, which is the thing that makes them different," Alice explained. "It's a really unique concept, one that their leader, Carlisle, developed on his own. They actually eat animals – just like normal humans do. Except, of course, they drink the blood."

"It's possible?"

"Evidently. They're living in Wisconsin right now, or so the girl I met said. I think she met Carlisle by chance once; he's been around long enough to have met almost everybody who's anybody in the vampire world. But anyway, about the family. There's Carlisle, of course, then there's his mate – or rather, his _wife_ – Esme. They're both in their twenties, but the other three are teenagers. Maybe Emmett's about twenty. I don't really know…"

"_Five_ vampires?" Jasper gaped at Alice, processing for the first time what he'd heard.

"We'll make seven."

"You really think we'll be able to do this, Alice?"

"We _will_. Because we _have_ to."

* * *

When they pulled up at the residence of the only Cullen listed in Ashland, Wisconsin, Jasper suddenly felt a sense of nervousness. He looked over at Alice, who gave him her usual sunny smile. This gave him strength.

He had been feeling very drained; it had been a long and eventful two years since they'd met in Philadelphia, but the hope that she had given him since their first day together had never lessened.

They had decided, on the day they met, that they would eventually take a train to Wisconsin to meet the Cullens. Or rather, Alice had explained to him that it was their course of action – and no point arguing, because he was going to agree to it in the end anyway. At the time, he'd felt a sense of purpose and hope – the feeling that Alice emanated.

But now that the moment of truth had arrived, he began to feel anxious. Even though she didn't admit it, he could tell that Alice did too.

"This isn't going to be easy," he sighed, regarding the house with a certain sense of intimidation.

"Stop that," she'd scolded. "We'll be just fine. They're wonderful people… from what I've heard."

"You're just as anxious as I am, there's no use covering it up for my sake," he snapped. Alice scrunched up her nose, giving him a look of frustration.

"We'll we're _going_ to go in there. And they're going to be nice about it and welcome us. I can even tell you that a tall blonde vampire will be the one to answer the door. What about that?"

They looked at each other, and Jasper couldn't help but laugh. Alice gave in too, and grabbed his hand as their eyes met.

"We're a fine pair, aren't we?"

"Indeed."

No further words were exchanged as the two approached the two-story suburban house. It was far from intimidating, just to pass on the street. It was a light ivory color with gray trim that was pretty against the overcast afternoon sky. The flowerbeds were filled with fragrant rosebushes and a few tendrils of ivy crawled up the wood panels of the house.

The two approached the door, and Alice used her free hand to rap on the wood sharply before she could talk herself out of it. They waited for a moment or two, looking around at the aesthetically pleasing surroundings but hardly taking them in. After many an awkward smile and shifting of feet despite how unusually short the wait actually _was_, the door opened.

The man who stood in the open portal was clearly a vampire. No other creature could achieve such flawless beauty and grace. He was tall – perhaps an inch or two more so than Jasper. His hair was blonde despite a few darker streaks, and slicked back carefully. The man's eyes were intent and almost piercing from above his high, chiseled cheekbones. But there was something different about them – the color was a goldish-brown hue.

"They told me you'd be different from the others, Carlisle Cullen," Alice observed confidently, indicating that she'd noticed the anomaly as well. "Or, I guess I've spoken too quickly. You really _could_ be Edward – he's an older seventeen, so I've heard. I don't think you're big enough to be Emmett…"

Jasper cringed a little as he saw the man's expression cloud over. That was hardly a way to go about meeting someone, especially someone with whom you wanted to take up residence. However, that was about what he was expecting, after the way Alice had greeted him. She had this way of assuming that everyone she met would be comfortable with her abilities and perhaps assume they existed prior to making her acquaintance.

"No, I'm Carlisle," the man replied. His voice was patient, but his expression was still unsure. Jasper decided it was time for him to intervene.

"We're sorry to bother you, Dr. Cullen," he sighed. "I'm Jasper, and this is Alice. We've got a lot of explaining to do. Do you have a few minutes?"

Alice gave Jasper a frustrated look, as though to say she could have handled the situation. However, Carlisle's expression softened.

"Of course. I was just straightening up the shelves in my study. Come in."

"Thank you," Alice replied, as though this had been more the reaction she had been expecting the first time around. Jasper allowed himself to be led in, not releasing his companion's cool, tightly gripped hand. As they walked, he noticed that the house was impeccably decorated and very open. However, he didn't get much opportunity to look around before they entered a room that smelled of aged books and candle wax.

"Sit down," Carlisle said, gesturing to a few armchairs in front of a large oak desk. He himself sat down behind it and folded his hands.

"I'd love to hear your explanation," he said, giving Alice a bemused smile. She laughed.

"Of course. It's actually not as complicated as Jasper makes it sound. Well, kind of. But not really."

Jasper and Carlisle locked eyes and Jasper grinned understandingly. Alice continued on, ignoring them.

"I ran into a clan from Alaska out in the woods one time when I was living on my own near Philadelphia, about three years ago. They had a strange way of living – they hunted animals instead of humans. I wasn't agreeable to the idea at first, but it _was_ interesting. When I actually spoke to them, though, they completely sold me on the idea."

Jasper watched with interest, more in Carlisle's reactions than to the story, which he'd heard several times. So far, the doctor seemed fascinated, and the hints of a smile were appearing on his youthful, well-shaven face.

"Naturally – the Denali clan. Tanya and a few of her friends were around that area about the time you're describing."

"That's them. We parted ways when it was time for them to go back home, but I decided I was going to live like they did."

At this point in the story, Alice started to look a little bit guilty.

"I did try really, really hard. But I slipped. As you can see."

Alice blinked her red eyes, and Carlisle nodded. He didn't seem mad at all – merely empathetic.

"They had mentioned your _family_," Alice explained, the emphasis on the last word making Carlisle's smile widen. "I thought I'd come and find you guys – maybe stay for a little while. Things like this are always easier with support – right? I was in downtown Philadelphia at the time I made my decision, and I was just about to leave when I saw that Jasper was going to arrive. I guess I should explain – I _see_ things, like from the future. When somebody decides on a course of action, I can see it followed through."

Carlisle continued to nod silently, but his eyes were alive with interest.

"Jasper here has some powers too. He can do lots of crazy stuff and manipulate people's emotions."

"Something like that," Jasper smiled at her. "I can tell how people are feeling – and I can modify it a little. It works best in large groups, but I can do it one-on-one too."

"That's fascinating," Carlisle said, looking at both of them. "So you found him, Alice?"

"Well, we found each other, I guess," Alice admitted. "I saw him headed to a bar in Philly, and I met him there. That was about two years ago – by the way."

Alice and Jasper exchanged a smile.

"That's an incredible story," Carlisle said, regarding them intently, his amber eyes full of excitement. "I'm flattered that you would seek us out. We're far from your average family – or coven, for that matter – but anyone willing to make an effort to follow our path is welcome to live among us. And I think you'll fit in here, I genuinely do. My son Edward has a gift rather like the ones you describe."

"I've heard!" Alice exclaimed. "He's a mind-reader. And you have incredible compassion and self-control when the humans are concerned…"

Carlisle gave a self-deprecating smile and lowered his eyes.

"You're kind, Alice, but I don't think that qualifies as a true _power_ ."

"Of course it does. Now when can we move in?"

"Anytime you would like," Carlisle replied, standing up to shake their hands. Alice turned to Jasper, who nodded.

"Would _now_ be okay with you guys?" she asked, giving Carlisle a hesitant smile.

"Now would be _excellent_."


	7. Jasper and Alice II

This was not a part of the plan, but you guys wanted to hear what happened when Edward, Emmett, Rosalie, and Esme met newcomers Alice and Jasper! So, in response to that crazy-wonderful influx of reviews, I had to acquiesce. Ya'll are fab. ;)

* * *

"I suppose I should introduce you to the rest of the family," Carlisle said, looking a little bit guilty. "Don't worry, though, I don't imagine they'll have any qualms."

"They won't," Alice winked. Carlisle laughed.

"You'll be quite an asset to us, Alice, I can already tell. Hold on, I'll get Esme and Rose. Edward and Emmett are away on a hunting trip, but they should get here –"

"-mid-afternoon," Alice cut in. Jasper rolled his eyes at her.

"Show-off."

As soon as Carlisle left the room, Alice got up from her chair and sat down in Jasper's lap. His long arms wrapped around her and rocked her back and forth.

"Can't you see it?" she whispered to him. "Better times are coming."

"Times have been more than just 'better' since the day I met you," he replied softly.

Alice kissed his neck, right on one of the scars. It had become her favorite, and it tended to be stained with her shade of lipstick most all of the time.

"The emotional climate here is a good one," Jasper whispered. "They're good people. Genuinely so."

Jasper was fascinated by how easily the word "people" had slipped out. He hadn't fought the urge to say "creatures" or even "vampires." Carlisle's coven genuinely came across as a group of feeling beings with consciences – something that he had never imagined himself being able to become again. First beaten down by the callousness of war, then the brutality of Maria's army… it never ended.

Until now.

Alice got up, hearing new footsteps enter the room. Unable to remain sitting in a lady's presence due to his strict southern upbringing, Jasper stood as well.

Alice's first impression of the two women was awe. They didn't resemble in the least the feral vampire females that she had seen running through the woods and tracking down human prey. Instead, they were as refined – or perhaps even more so – than their human counterparts. The brunette was pretty in a natural, demure kind of way. The blonde, on the other hand, looked like a goddess from Greek mythology. Considering her immortality, Alice caught herself wondering if any of those myths had been written about her…

"This is Rosalie," Carlisle indicated the blonde, who inclined her head and smiled cordially. Jasper caught a vibe of haughtiness, but wasn't particularly surprised. He shook her hand politely, but Alice jumped forward and threw her arms around her. Rosalie was shocked, initially, but Jasper could see the shadow of a smile on her face after a moment.

"Sorry," Alice said, stepping back. "Was I too forward?"

"Not at all, dear," the other woman replied, stepping forward and embracing Alice herself. "We could use a ray of sunshine around here."

"And my lovely wife, Esme," Carlisle finished, giving the brunette a peck on the lips that became a very long-held kiss.

"Well, it's good to know that public displays of affection aren't frowned-upon here," Alice interrupted them, winking at Jasper. Carlisle paused.

"Yes and no, I suppose," he started. Esme nodded sympathetically.

"Our youngest son, Edward, is the only member of the coven who remains without a mate," she explained softly. "He also has the occasionally unfortunate ability to read minds, so things can get kind of awkward when he's here at home. We've developed a system over the years – Edward usually finds other places to be on Friday night – that's 'date night.'"

"Although not much 'going out' actually takes place," Carlisle said, raising his eyebrows to ensure that the implication was made. Jasper looked slightly horrified that they would discuss something like this in the presence of ladies, but Alice snickered and elbowed him.

"Sounds good," she said. "Any other rules we should know about?"

"There are only about a _million_," Rosalie replied loftily, rolling her eyes. Esme and Carlisle exchanged a look. Apparently it was Carlisle's turn to explain.

"There are a lot of issues involved with living so closely among the humans for long periods of time," he admitted. "There's our obvious coven regulation about subsisting on only animal blood, but there are, as Rosalie says, lots of other nuances to master. Don't worry, though – you'll pick them up quickly. It's all about little things like fidgeting and blinking and breathing regularly. Practice makes perfect."

"Don't forget about endless high school," Rosalie said, holding up her right hand to reveal a class ring with a pink stone.

"We all pick and choose our roles," Esme explained. "I'm always the housewife, but occasionally Edward is my brother instead of my son. We all have windows of age that come across as believable, but bearing that in mind, we can only last a decade or so in each area. Over time, we've found that it works better if the teenagers start as sophomores or juniors in high school and Carlisle and I each start around twenty-four. It's a stretch for him, but we have to make it appear that he's out of school and certified to practice medicine."

"So much thought has gone into this," Alice marveled. "It's really impressive."

"Well, what else do you do when you have twenty-four hours every day?" Carlisle asked rhetorically.

Alice laughed, but suddenly stopped when she got a quick image of the next question to come.

"Tell us about _your_ histories," Esme urged them. Alice and Jasper exchanged a quick look. Alice had seen it coming and braced herself, but she hadn't had the time to warn Jasper.

"Well, I haven't got too much to say," she admitted, hoping to give Jasper a chance to think of a good way to word his answer. "I have almost no memory of my human life at all. I found a hospital ID bracelet in my pocket after I was changed, and apparently I was called 'Alice.' That's all I have to go by."

"That's fascinating," Rosalie said softly, surprising Alice, who had almost forgotten that she was there. "No memory of the change, even?"

"Very little," Alice replied, biting her lip. "Just a few hazy memories of pain. I do, for whatever reason, have a couple of random recollections from my childhood, but those don't do me any good."

"How about you, Jasper?" Carlisle asked. Alice cringed.

_Why so early on? Couldn't he _prove_ he was trustworthy before he had to admit that he came from the bloodbaths of vampire warfare in Mexico?_

"I was one of the warlords of the most powerful vampire coalition in Mexico following the American Civil War," Jasper said evenly, without hesitation. Rosalie's eyes grew huge and Esme inadvertently tightened her grip on Carlisle's arm. The doctor, however, remained impressively passive.

"That's quite extraordinary," he said evenly. "You're a higher-caliber fighter than we are. As much as we attempt to avoid violence, I daresay that in our state it is occasionally a regrettable necessity. Rest assured, your knowledge and experience will be a comfort."

Alice grinned at Jasper and squeezed his hand, but Carlisle wasn't through.

"However, I do not hesitate to warn you that this lifestyle will be quite a transition," he continued. "Going from momentary gratification of bloodlust to utter denial of it will quite taxing."

"We've talked about it," Alice assured them softly. "This is still the right choice. You can trust him."

Jasper drew her hand up to his cheek.

"That explains the scars, then?" Rosalie asked. Esme nodded, as though she had been wondering the same thing.

"Yes," Jasper replied, his even countenance still betraying no pain or shame. "I trained newborns."

Carlisle's closed his eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

Jasper shrugged. Alice gave him a quick hug, but then looked back up at the others.

"I guess we've got all the hard introduction stuff out of the way," she said, breaking the awkward silence that had ensued. "On to happier things! We brought almost nothing along with us, but we're not gross wild invalids or anything. We've just been staying in hotels and buying our clothes as we need them."

"Perfectly fine! That's a good way transition into our lifestyle," Esme encouraged. "Plenty of vampires would have settled for sleeping outside."

"Transition – that's what we were going for," Alice replied proudly. "But anyway, we'll need to do some serious shopping later today for stuff like towels, furniture… and more clothes."

"We're fairly financially secure," Jasper added. Carlisle and Esme looked at each other as though wondering how this 'financial security' had come about, but decided it would probably be better not to ask.

"Good, that's good," Carlisle said finally. "Feel free to go upstairs and pick out some rooms… or, I mean, _a_ room, if you prefer."

"One will be plenty," Alice said, already headed up the stairs. Jasper, who was finally appearing a little bit more comfortable, laughed quietly.

"It will take that much space just to hold all her clothes, after a few shopping trips," he said. "I think I might need an office of my own somewhere – I get the feeling she'll take over 'our' space pretty quickly."

"I heard all that!" Alice said from somewhere on the second floor.

"It's fine, Jasper," Carlisle said, smiling too. "Whatever you guys need to be comfortable."

Jasper nodded his thanks and headed up the stairs after Alice. He found her in a nice, comfortable-looking room on the end of the hallway. There were blue curtains in the wide windows and several rugs on the floor, looking as though they probably existed to distract any visitor to the room from the lack of a bed. It was a nicely furnished space, aside from that apparent oversight, with several well-dusted bookcases.

The only problem was that it already looked occupied.

"Can you believe that view?" Alice demanded, gesturing towards one of the enormous windows. "I think that's a waterfall, in the distance over there!"

"It's nice, definitely," Jasper replied uneasily. "But it looks like somebody lives here."

"They have plenty of _space_, Jasper," she sighed. "And Carlisle said to make ourselves comfortable. The only empty room up here just faces some random trees. BOR-ing! I need a pretty view to be comfortable. And besides, Edward won't be mad. He'll think I'm a weirdo, but he won't be mad."

"If you say so," Jasper said, shrugging. He'd take her word for it; she was usually right. And after all, if this was going to be a problem, he didn't think that the family would be able to adjust to Alice very well anyway. Might as well give them an idea of what they were dealing with right off the bat.

She did seem so _happy_, too, when she looked out that window…

"Help me move these bookcases, Jasper," Alice interrupted his thoughts. She stepped over to the other side of the room, across from the windows. "I mean, we'll have to stop in a few minutes – Edward and Emmett will be getting here around a quarter after. But we can get a start. Let's take the first load down to the garage."

"Sure," Jasper said, stifling a laugh as he easily picked up one of the fully-stocked wooden bookcases and followed Alice, who carried a few beanbag chairs, down the steps.

"We're taking the room at the end of the hall," Alice announced as they walked through the foyer. Esme gave Carlisle a look of hesitant amusement, but Rosalie laughed outright.

"Edward's going to _love _this," she drawled. Alice nodded earnestly.

"Actually, he will. He was planning on moving some of his things to the other room next week anyway."

Carlisle laughed, giving Rosalie a playful shove.

"I think you may have met your match, dear."

Rosalie didn't appear quite as amused.

"Just don't pile his stuff anywhere _near_ the Corvette," she sighed, noticing that they were headed towards the garage. "It's mine, and it doesn't have a scratch on it. Believe me, I'll notice!"

"No problem!" Alice replied from the garage.

While she and Jasper were still in the process of unloading their first armfuls of Edward's belongings, the garage door opened. A mud-spattered Jeep that looked as though it could have been army-issue was now parked on the edge of the driveway. A tall boy with curly brown hair jumped out of the driver's side, followed by a slightly smaller redhead who had evidently been his passenger. Alice and Jasper easily pegged them as vampires – not only because of their agility, but because of their stunning good looks. Both stopped short at the sight of the two newcomers.

"Hey, guys!" Alice called, undaunted. To emphasize her greeting, she put down the beanbag chairs and waved energetically. "I'm Alice, and this is Jasper. We're moving in!"

"O…_kay_," Emmett said slowly, walking up and shaking her hand. Edward still hung back a few feet, but Emmett gestured for him to come forward. "I'm Emmett, and this is Edward. We've been moved in for awhile now."

"Um, it looks like I might not be anymore," Edward contradicted him, a hesitant crooked smile appearing across his face. Alice giggled.

"Sorry about that. You don't mind, though, right? I thought you were getting tired of the water pressure on that side of the house anyway…"

Emmett gave Edward an inquisitive glance.

"She's right," Edward admitted, giving them a strange look. "Wait, you – Alice – you're seeing some strange things… Do you have some kind of power?"

Alice ignored him, looking puzzled for a moment.

"Oh, yeah… _he's_ the mind reader," she finally said, more to herself than anybody else. Jasper rolled his eyes.

"I think we all have some explaining to do," he said apologetically. "Why don't you guys come in – we can all talk and get to know each other."

"Great, Ed," Emmett said, turning to his younger brother. "The little one's moving you out of your room and the blonde one's inviting us into our own house… you know, I like 'em – they've got nerve!"

"You _better_ like us," Alice called from the kitchen, where she had danced in ahead of the rest of them. "We're sticking with you guys for a _long_ time!"


End file.
